By five-thirty,
there'd be fifty of them. Some of them brought their own power strips so
that they could share juice with their coreligionists.
"You really want me to give up?" Kurt asked, once the Greek had given
him a new beer and a scowling look over the litter of picked-at beer
label on the table before him.
"I really think you should," Alan said. "It's a poor use of time."
Kurt looked ready to cry again. Adam had no idea what to say.
"Okay," Kurt said. "Fine." He finished his beer in silence and slunk
away.
#
But it wasn't fine, and Kurt wouldn't give it up. He kept on beating his
head against the blank wall, and every time Alan saw him, he was grimmer
than the last.
"Let it *go*," Adam said. "I've done a deal with the vacuum-cleaner
repair guy across the street." A weird-but-sweet old Polish Holocaust
survivor who'd listened attentively to Andy's pitch before announcing
that he'd been watching all the hardware go up around the Market and had
simply been waiting to be included in the club. "That'll cover that
corner just fine."
"I'm going to throw a party," Kurt said. "Here, in the shop. No, I'll
rent out one of the warehouses on Oxford. I'll invite them, the kids,
everyone who's let us put up an access point, a big mill-and-swill. Buy
a couple kegs. No one can resist free beer."
Alan had started off frustrated and angry with Kurt, but this drew him
up and turned him around.
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